


The Beekeeper

by VigilantShadow



Category: The Secret World
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Kingsmouth Town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 10:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1547192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VigilantShadow/pseuds/VigilantShadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Boone has had a lot of jobs over the years. Minding the rookie Bees who stumble out of Agartha and into Kingsmouth town isn't the most dangerous, but he thinks it might be the most stressful. Sometimes, he's not sure whether he's protecting the citizens of Kingsmouth from monsters, or from the Secret Societies.<br/>(Previously entered as a fic into the Alexandria Initiative fanfic competition)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beekeeper

Jack watches the bright-eyed group of young Templars as they make their way down the road, slicing and shooting through zombies. How many does that make, he wonders. A hundred? Two hundred? He’s lost count of all the kids who have come by him, the fresh buzzing beneath their skin marking them as some sort of magic.

When the first Bee had come, he’d assumed it was a one-time thing. The agent had been more experienced than they usually are now, her worn out blue uniform stained with blood even before she waded into the zombie horde. She hadn’t stopped to explain why she’d come, and at the time he’d had no idea what in Kingsmouth could be valuable enough for the Illuminati to get involved. He hadn’t had time to think too hard about it; the Fog had just rolled in and he was busy finding survivors and trying to save what he could.

The first Templar had been more talkative. He was a rookie, one of those agents who hadn’t yet figured out that the Redcoat version of the Greater Good was different from the layman’s idea of morality. He talked a big game about saving people, about stopping the fog, and it quickly became clear that he was in over his head. A week later, the boy was back, perched on the stump across from him and ranting about how Sonnac had ordered him to focus less on the individual and more on the big picture. He’d stumbled back through the portal, apparently recalled, and Jack wondered whether it would be his idealism or Templar command’s patience that crumbled first.

By the time the fourth, fifth, and sixth agents, had swaggered out, Jack had acknowledged that people were going to keep coming. The leader of the group had spoken to him, eager to gain as much knowledge about the situation as possible. Jack can’t remember what faction they were, but he remembers that only one of them had magic. He remembers Wolf telling him that only one of them had made it to the Savage Coast. That was the last time any of the Three sent in non-magical agents.

The twelfth agent was the last one to come through with any experience. After that, it’s all newbies, and that’s when Jack realizes why they are here. It’s not about saving the town, or saving the world, or finding some secret to gain an advantage. It might have been, at one point, but he thinks that the Three have long since uncovered everything they wish to know, and long since written off Kingsmouth as a lost cause. Now, their tiny little town is just a training ground.

He’s not worried about the kids that come through after that. There’s nothing that can kill them permanently, and if their respective organizations thought they were sturdy enough to make into field agents they’ll probably last through the drama. Jack might not be too fond of the Three, but he does respect their ability to judge character. No, he’s not worried for them. He’s worried _about_ them.  He’s under no illusions that any of their mission dossiers have “protect the citizens of Kingsmouth” anywhere on the primary objective lists. They all think they’re making a difference, saving the world or paving the way to a new order, and an increasing portion of them seem willing to throw the people of his town under the bus to get there.

There are too few people left for that sort of risk, he thinks. Most of the survivors are people who can handle themselves, but everyone has limits, and in his long career he’s seen how much damage a person can do when they have a higher purpose and magic running through their veins. So, after the fifteenth and sixteenth agents leave him, he calls Wolf and the two of them add “babysitters” to their growing job list. As far as the agents are concerned, they only see him outside the portal, and only see Wolf outside of the kindergarten, but the two of them never lose track of their charges. Some of them are decent, and don’t need all that much supervision, but he’s never more than two steps behind the dangerous ones.

The Bees think they’re immortal, and it’s almost true. But there are ways to put them down, and he’s been in business long enough to know them. The wicked, selfish ones are the easiest. Gaia doesn’t appreciate those who misuse her gifts. She sets them up so that they believe they are unkillable, and then drops their shields when he is in range.

The stupid ones are a bit harder to deal with. Recklessness is just as dangerous as cruelty, perhaps even more so, but it isn’t as much of a crime in Gaia’s eyes. She is less inclined to abandon them, and he is less inclined to kill them, so he has to think of other ways to get rid of them. Errands work well. He tells the other citizens to give any busy work to them and leaves clues to little mysteries scattered around the island. They don’t do damage when they’re off trying to solve puzzles in the woods. Besides, having them do the weekly supply runs takes a load off everyone else’s back.

Jack remembers when he thought this job would be temporary. Little towns like Kingsmouth don’t have all that many people, so usually they run out of either zombies or people within a week or two (his initial bets had favored the living). But instead, several months have passed and zombies keep pouring in from _somewhere_ , even though no one new is coming to the island and he’s been keeping track of all the survivors. There’s no place these corpses could be coming from, and yet every one he sees has a different face, and every face is one he recognizes.

He wonders when this plague will die out. Maybe it won’t. Maybe the fog and the zombies will become facts of Kingsmouth life, just like the familiars up at the school and the Ak’ab lurking in the woods. Maybe he and Wolf will be sitting on their respective perches, briefing kids who are still high (or traumatized) because of their new super powers, not until this is over but until something worse happens that requires their expertise. He hopes not. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, tapping out of a fight before it’s won or lost.


End file.
